


Grief

by EKthered



Category: The Order: 1886
Genre: Angst, Character Development, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 03:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3593844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EKthered/pseuds/EKthered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You missed supper,” Galahad rumbled as he stood in her door frame. He thumbed the old wood, bare fingers tracking the lines of growth in the lumber while he waited for his charge to say something. Her back was to him, sitting in the dark on her single frame bed, the storm outside the open window illuminating her silhouette when lightning flashed.<br/>She said nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grief

 

 

**October 13 th, 1803**

 

 

“You missed supper,” Galahad rumbled as he stood in her door frame. He thumbed the old wood, bare fingers tracking the lines of growth in the lumber while he waited for his charge to say something. Her back was to him, sitting in the dark on her single frame bed, the storm outside the open window illuminating her silhouette when lightning flashed.

 

She said nothing.

 

He exhaled though his nose and swallowed, entering the threshold into the knight's quarters. Hers wasn't that different than those in the men's dorms down the hall – blue walls with thinly inked gold weave, a finely carved bed frame with matching dresser. Her wardrobe differed from the rest in that it was decorated with the faces of men and woman, photographs – something many of the knights didn't have the luxury of keeping after initiation because it hadn't been invented yet. Despite her insane progress with weaponry and knightly training, she was still so, so young.

 

His footfalls were drowned out by the splattering of heavy rainfall on the dormers above and below her window. Beads of water gathered and dripped from the top of the window frame, growing heavy and falling to the floor. Galahad approached slowly, so not to startle her had she not heard his greeting.

 

Her face was pale in darkness, normally intricate hair pooled atop her head in heap. She wore a thick woolen robe wrapped tightly around her, her knees to her chest, bare feet avoiding the dampening floor by her bed.

 

“Isabeau?”

 

Her eyes shifted from the storm to his face. When the lightning flashed, he could see they were swollen and red.

 

Galahad frowned. He lowered himself to sit beside her, the bed springs creaking with his weight. A gust of wind brought chill and mist into the room. He moved to close the window.

 

“Don't. Please.”

 

“Alright,” he agreed, leaning back. “But tell me – what's this? Are you well?”

 

She shifted, hands exposing themselves from the folds of her robe. She clutched a picture frame.

 

“My half sister, from my family in the Isles,” she whispered. “She died today. She was fifty-three.”

 

The elder knight felt the air leave his lungs, and he was shocked to feel his old heart pang sympathy for her. Every knight knew they would outlive their mothers, brothers, sisters, even children should they have had them before initiation. It was something they all accepted and experienced and moved on from, but to see his stubborn, bull-headed apprentice look so – so raw...

 

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered back.

 

“She had a g-good life,” Isabeau told him, her voice so quiet he strained to hear it over the rainfall. “Well loved. I didn't see her very much after my father adopted me, but we wrote often. I think – I think she was my best friend. My half brother Thomas took care of everything, but I couldn't be there – I didn't even know about it, we were in the field -” A soft, sad little moan escaped her and she dragged the sleeve of the robe across her nose. “I found out this afternoon.”

 

Galahad didn't know what to say to that – they'd spent the previous two days slaughtering a vampire nest they'd discovered in the west. It had been gruesome work, Isabeau's first experience with that brand of terror. Vampires fought differently than half breeds. To combine that stress with this; Galahad felt his heart constrict again.

 

“Do you think – no, no I don't think,” she shook her head, turning away.

 

“Think what, love?”

 

Shrugging, she stared hard into the night, brow hardened, jaw wavering.

 

“How can there be a God? The things we face, the work we do – I don't see it. It is not logical,” she rambled, waving her free hand at the window, perhaps to heaven itself. “He does not come when we call – he does not listen, he does not _exist._ ” she sniffled hard, her shoulders starting to shake. “And so, my sister – never to see her again for rest of my life, and then never again in whatever is a-after!”

 

And then she was tucked under his arm, face in his chest, a trembling mass of sorrow. Galahad was frozen for a moment, but then accepted her weight, turning and running his hands across the slant of her shoulders. He muttered soothing things, assuring her it was alright, everything was alright.

 

Time passed. He watched the droplets fall in succession into the room, his thoughts growing loose and unorganized as he held the younger knight. He'd thought perhaps she'd dozed off and he barely returned to the present moment in time to hear her whisper -

 

“Do you remember her? Your family? Your mother?”

 

He shifted, supporting her head with his shoulder and reaching to take the frame from her fingers. The woman in the picture was beautiful, even with the paper aging and cracking within the frame. She looked different, blond hair and thinner jaw, but had Isabeau's eyes.

 

“Not her face,” Galahad admitted. “I don't remember anything about her looks or face, not the color of her eyes, nothing. But,” his gaze became hazy, thoughts far away, “I remember her voice. So bright was her laugh, as if she were the sun itself. I remember late at night, she would come into my chambers in a beautifully woven silken chemise, and it was so soft when she sat beside me, offering – a sweet or warmed milk. Bread with freshly churned butter – luxuries. I remember -” he stopped, and then sighed, shaking his head. “It was so long ago. Centuries.”

 

Isabeau was quiet, entranced by his thoughts as she watched the play of emotions across his normally stoic face. He looked down at her and met her stare.

 

“But then, within the order, I was introduced to Sebastian, who would be _my_ mentor. I was just a boy. At first he was a thing of legend to me – so strong, impossibly fast in the way he killed his enemies. But then, he became a father – and I realized I loved him just as fiercely as I'd loved my own family. And when I grew to my potential, just as fast and as strong, he became a brother.” Galahad paused to gather his thoughts. “Most humans – they don't go through this, this – evolution of what our fellow knights mean to us. But I assure you,” he squeezed her shoulder, “the order is all that there is holding back the darkness in this world, a great burden to those who carry out it's sacred duty. But the order is family, and you will never, ever be alone.”

 

Her lips trembled and her eyes were bright with new tears but she nodded, cheek rubbing his shoulder.

 

“Come,” he said, standing. “Where are your slippers? Let me have someone clean this mess – come with me to the kitchens and we'll get you something warm.”

 

“Like – like this?” she gasped, motioning to her mess of hair and robe. His eyes crinkled at her, a smile tugging his lips.

 

“Most of the other young knights probably look worse after a night of drinking. But, we'll take the hidden way. I'll watch your back.” He offered his arm. She took it.


End file.
